Revisiting Classical Education

There’s been some noteworthy progress in classical education lately, and it’s quite hopeful. Students are once again diving into significant names and impactful stories, engaging with essential texts that inspire them to participate rather than just watch from the sidelines.

Yet, while these programs aim to teach children the virtues of the past, we ought to consider if we’ve actually set the right environment for those virtues to take hold and develop effectively.

As it turns out, students truly benefit from connecting with nature directly. You know, experiencing the chill of the wind and the ache in their muscles—this teaches them virtue far more effectively than merely discussing concepts around tables.

Xenophon’s “Cyropedia” recounts the upbringing of Cyrus before he became king of Persia. He illustrates a form of education—a process where a young man evolves into a leader. This education includes various experiences, preparing him for military life, familiarizing him with hardship, and instilling an unwavering sense of justice.

This portrayal resonates with the descriptions by the Greek historian Herodotus regarding how noble Persian youth were raised. These youths spent time with warlords on the empire’s edges, away from the distractions of royal luxury. They learned practical skills—like riding and archery—and were urged to speak the truth. Only after they were adequately trained were they allowed to return to positions of power within the empire.

Both Herodotus and Xenophon envisioned an education deeply rooted in nature, emphasizing military virtues and utilizing a straightforward, honest form of communication—rather than the convoluted language often found in political arenas. They believed that such education is what shapes future kings.

However, this ideal educational framework stands in stark contrast to many modern educational approaches. The style depicted in “Cyropedia” seems absent in public, private, or even most traditional education settings.

To truly grasp what Xenophon and Herodotus advocated, especially when it deviates from contemporary practices, we might consider insights from John Henry Newman, a theologian who eloquently critiqued the prevalent, mostly uniform method of book learning that dominates today’s education.

In one of his sermons, Newman emphasized that our intellect, much like our passions, is flawed. He posed thought-provoking questions about how intellect, in its current state, is a byproduct of a fallen nature, one not found in an ideal existence.

While he recognized reason as a gift from God—something for which we should be thankful—he also warned against idolizing our passions at the expense of our moral obligations.

In another sermon, he pointed out a significant flaw in refined education—it often disconnects emotion from action. Basically, we might learn to articulate thoughts correctly but without having to act on those principles. This kind of education may enhance our speech and manners but fails to cultivate virtuous conduct in real life.

This presents a challenging picture for a society where most educational experiences revolve around reading, writing, and theoretical thinking.

Now, some might argue that reading about heroic figures inspires us to emulate their virtues, while stories of villains can guide us away from their paths. Nonetheless, Newman presents a different perspective—highlighting the potential downfall of character when shaped by feelings alone, devoid of harsh realities.

For instance, we might read stories showcasing heroism in adversity and feel moved by them. We can appreciate the notion of enduring hardship for our conscience while repeatedly doing so in theory. But when faced with actual choices, will we stand firm? More likely, we hesitate and flee danger instead. Why is that? Perhaps we assume our right feelings will guide us, but true practice hasn’t built that connection within us.

Present education often leaves us feeling relaxed but powerless, rather than catalyzing the steadfastness that Newman believed necessary for greatness.

We’re still grappling with the core lessons that reality teaches—the lessons that aren’t so easily ignored. Contemporary students, even those at leading classical schools, spend excessive time focused on theoretical ideals, often losing touch with the action that translates those ideals into practice.

But there’s hope. Admittedly, the path is challenging for both young people and their educators. Many who’ve enjoyed the comforts of traditional classrooms might need to reconnect with the physicality of learning—embracing the sweat and toil that comes from authentic life experiences.

This means integrating rigorous physical activity, something akin to athletic training or outdoor experiences, like camping or climbing. Students should engage directly with nature, allowing them to develop character through real hardships, as opposed to merely discussing concepts in sterile environments.

They need hands-on labor—like farming or caring for animals—to learn patience, accountability, and the boundaries of human capability. This requires stepping away from modern conveniences that often obscure valuable lessons in nature.

For too long, we’ve treated hard work and self-discipline as add-ons in education. Yet if we want our children to exhibit the “stubborn, unruly obedience” that Newman noted as essential for effective governance, we need to rethink our approach.